Agoraphobia
by Midorima Kazunari
Summary: Kaneki comes to Uta for some advice and ends up learning some of the mask maker's backstory. Rated for bad language and past abuse.
1. Chapter 1

Kaneki-kun comes into the shop by himself one day after all the fuss dies down, not to commission a new mask, but to bring me a hot cup of coffee, to ask my advice about Touka, and to catch up on what he's missed in my life during his absence. It is a sweet gesture, even if he doesn't bring food. Clive is in the back, shooting a tattoo for one of the Clowns, but he finishes up quickly enough that when he comes in to put the needles in the autoclave he catches the most pivotal question: "What is love? How do you know if you are _in_ love?"

Clives snorts but makes no other comment.

"And would you like me to cure cancer and give you the solution for world peace while I'm at it, Kaneki-kun? You might as well ask me all the other secrets of the universe while we're at it," I say, laughing at the absurdity.

"It can't be that much of a mystery; everyone says you've been in love for years."

Clive sees that I'm sitting there with a cup in my hand and no snack foods, so he brings out my bento. Before he can leave, I pull him down into a kiss, biting his lip just enough so that I can taste his blood. Clive chuckles and goes into the back room so we can have some privacy.

"Wait?!" Kaneki-kun says, "Is he a human?"

"He is," I answer, opening the bento, "but don't hold it against him, ok? I wouldn't want to have to go toe to toe with you, but I will." There is a handful of finger foods that Clive has prepared for my long day in the shop. Right on top are my favorites. I offer the first choice of the box to Kaneki-kun who, of course, declines. I pop an eyeball in my mouth. If he isn't going to partake that's fine, but I'm not passing up my lunch.

"There's got to be a story behind that. How long have you been together?"

"Ten years, maybe eleven," I say, then turn in my chair and address the backroom. "Clive, how long have we been lovers?"

Clive – I've long since learned to pronounce his name like a native – comes to the door again, wiping his hands on a rag. There are bloody finger prints on it; oh good, he's getting dinner ready.

"Almost twelve years now, isn't it? You know me, Uta. I'm no good with dates." He smiles. We are both a lot older, and I've at least matured in those twelve years. I'm sure he's right; he pleads ignorance to make me feel better about constantly forgetting our anniversary, but he's the most put together artist I've ever met. Clive wanders away, when he sees I don't need anything further, and I turn back to Kaneki-kun.

"That's remarkable. How…?"

"Is he still alive? Because I made it very clear that anyone who puts a hand on him will bring down the wrath of Kami-sama down on their heads. It's not that strange, really, every one of us has at least one human who is important to them… Clive is mine, and I will kill to protect him."

"But, how did you meet? That's got to be a very cool story."

"You've got time to hear it now?"

"Sure."

* * *

It was unexpected that the very first walk-in customer to ever enter HySy ArtMask Studio wasn't a Ghoul. It was strange; I'd gone out of my way over the years to have as little human contact as possible. I was, in many ways, agoraphobic, and I thought that little out of the way, rundown shop would attract no traffic, except by word of mouth - word of Ghoul mouth.

It was awkward… that initial moment when I'd looked up – welding goggles still over my eyes - when the faint perfume of human sweat and unwashed body tinged with just a hint of blood caressed my nose. I was hungry, I was always hungry, and he had smelled like dinner… it made my heart beat quicken. I put my fingers to the pulse point in my neck and felt it flutter under the skin, quivering like a weak prey animal scenting a predator.

 _How ridiculous_ , I'd thought, watching the young man, his face covered in the shadow of a hoodie, _I am the predator_ , and this short, frail boy covered in layers of clothing to look bigger than he was, was nothing but prey, _but he is also a customer_. I slipped a quick bite into my mouth to sate the gnawing hunger and cleared my throat.

"If you'd like to try something on –" I said, my voice timid, even though I'd tried to psyche myself into feeling confident. " – go ahead. My name is Uta, if you need anything." The boy stopped, his eyes wide and gleaming white as he felt my gaze upon him. _Did I say something wrong? Can he tell I'm a Ghoul just by my voice? Gah, I'd better shut up._

The customer went back to browsing, and I adjusted the headband in my bleached hair – that's how long ago this was – and pulled the strap on the goggles tighter to make sure they wouldn't slip, revealing my eyes to the human. I went back to welding the mask I'd been working on when the kid came in.

I tracked the boy, with scent and sound, as he surveyed each mask, lingering over certain ones, almost reaching out to touch, but then drawing back at the last second.

"I do custom orders," I said, wondering why I'd even offered such a service to a human. The boy started at the sound of my soft voice, so close by, as if he'd lost track of my presence among the sea of faux faces.

"I…" the tiny little voice answered. "Thanks for letting me look." And then he darted out the door.

* * *

I didn't expect to see him again, but to make life easier for myself, I'd purchased a new pair of wraparound sunglasses that hid my Kakugan completely and took to wearing them whenever the sign on the door signaled that I was open for business - which, frankly, wasn't often.

A week later, however, I was working on the fine details of a stitched vinyl mask when I heard the shop's bell and inhaled as the familiar scent fill the room.

"Welcome back," I greeted; the boy snapped taut like he'd been yelled at to freeze by the police. I softened my tone and started again. "Did you see something the other day you couldn't live without?"

The customer leaned against the wall to the right of the door, still with his hoodie drawn up over his face. "My… boyfriend said I should… get one for when…"

"That's one reason to get a mask, certainly. So what are you thinking?"

The boy pulled back his hoodie and shook his long brown hair back from his face revealing wounds stitched closed with thick black thread. He was younger than I'd first thought, and there was something foreign about his features. He wasn't pure Japanese, and that made it harder for me to guess his age, but either way he was young. I've never claimed to be an expert in the matter of human physiology, but the smell of blood and infection told me that they were fresh wounds still struggling to heal.

"Wicked cool body mods!" I'd gushed, hoping that would put him at ease. "As you can see I'm into them too." I didn't have much back then – the lip piercing, half dozen earrings, the tattoo around my throat, and the half-finished one on my inner arm. "Yours look new? Less than two weeks old, right? Sucks your boyfriend doesn't appreciate it, though. It's very artistically done."

The kid looked at his shoes the entire time, avoiding eye contact. "I'm just looking for something…"

"So," I slowed down, noticing the chatter wasn't putting the customer at ease, "what would you like, a partial or a full face mask?"

"Half, I think. Nothing too expensive, or -"

"Mine aren't cheap. They're not something a person buys on a whim. Do you really want one?"

"I think I need one. Can we work out a payment plan, or something?"

"Depends on what you want. Come sit down and I'll measure you, and we'll talk about what you can afford."

The boy perched on the chair like he would spring out of it at any moment. I took the basic measurements and chatted about the weather.

"Do you mind if I take a quick picture?" I asked, after the measurements were done.

"A picture?"

"Yeah, I can do with only the measurements, but with a picture it'll help me figure out the design better, since you can't live in my shop until it's done." My stomach growled audibly and the kid laughed a little, the first sign of a personality he'd displayed.

"Ok," he said, and closed his eyes while I snapped a series of close-ups.

"Come back tomorrow, same time," I told him, tapping the boy on the knee. "I'll have a design for you to look at."

* * *

"I started fasting around noon the next day and as soon as my Kakugan wore away, I immediately regretted my decision. Hell, without it, my eyesight was worse than a blind man – probably even worse now, but I wanted this customer to see the whites of my eyes, maybe then he'd stop shaking like a cold chihuahua."

"I've never seen you without your Kakugan," Kaneki-kun says. "It's hard to even imagine what you'd look like."

"He's not as pretty without it," Clive says as he comes back into the room. He's got a plate of dark red cherries and a bottle of Pocari Sweat. "Since you're telling our story _again_ , I figured I should join you."

"You make it sound like I tell everyone," I laugh, stealing the plumpest, reddest cherry from his plate.

"Go ahead, if you want to be sick," he taunts. I break the stem off and toss it back to him. I put it in my mouth and after a few seconds, tie the thing into a knot with my talented tongue. I present it to Kaneki-kun. Clive laughs again, and grabs it from between my lips. "Like he wants anything that's been in _your_ mouth."

"Many wonderful and delightful things have passed these lips," I smirk, "But, I digress…"

* * *

Right before three, the time the customer had appeared both times, I got right up to the mirror and peered at my milky eyes. _Yup, two eyes, still there._ He slunk in at 3:15 and I greeted him with a warm smile. "Let me show you what I've come up with." I motioned for him to sit and then gathered up my sketch pad. Just as he was about to sit down, the boy's phone rang, and he jumped away as if his pants were on fire.

I moved to the work counter and began stitching on the new mask I was making for Renji, but I could still hear every word that came out of the cheap mechanical speaker of the cell.

"Where the hell are you? I'm fucking hungry and I'm done waiting on you. you're gonna have to buy your own damn dinner, cause I'm not saving anything for your lazy ass," the angry voice on the other side yelled.

"I'm at that mask shop. Remember I'd told you I had to stop there on the way –"

"Well, you'd better get your ass home by the time I'm done eating!"

"Yes, of course. I have to work out a payment plan and then I'll head out, I promise –"

"So you won't even get one tonight? That's bullshit."

"It'll be fine. You won't have to look –"

"Whatever," the voice said, and then I heard the bleating of a disconnected phone.

The boy continued. "Ok, I'll be home soon. Bye." Keeping his back to me for a few more seconds, he took a deep breath and folded the phone away into his pocket. He turned and seeing me standing on the far side of the shop, walked over.

"I'm thinking something like this," I said, swinging the sketch pad around to show a half mask with the boys own features carefully wrought in pastel colored pencil.

"That's… beautiful, perfect, Uta-sama. How did you even know?"

"I noticed which masks caught your attention the other day," I shrugged. "I'm glad you like it, but you can drop the formality, just call me Uta." I leaned in, and took a deep breath, while not trying to seem too creepy. He smelled divine, like raw meat. I shook my head and backed away.

"Is it like a tattoo, where you make the pattern in the reverse and then flip it?"

"Flip it?" I asked, my head tilted, studying the kid's face.

"Yeah, flip it."

The smile fell off my face as the pieces connected between the words we'd exchanged and those I'd overheard. "Oh!" I put my hand up in front of my mouth, thinking about all the things I'd said, thinking that the scars were a choice. "You didn't do this to yourself. It's not a statement."

"No, I didn't. It's not a statement, but rather a punishment."

"Oh, me and my big, fat, stupid mouth, I'm so sorry. You should have stopped me-"

"It's ok, it's not your fault. It was nice for a change that someone thought they were… I don't know, artistic."

"Did a Ghoul do that?"

"A ghoul?" He laughed. "No, I've never even _seen_ a ghoul. 'Sides, its only human that are this cruel to each other, right?"

"I don't know about that."

"Every time I see the news or read an article about a ghoul attack, it seems very clinical. They kill for food, right? Like a lion or a bear, but humans... humans are the real sick fucks in this world. Maybe an occasional ghoul goes crazy – like a human serial killer – but that seems to be the exception, not the rule. At least if it had been a ghoul, I would be dead now and not have to worry about looking at myself in the mirror every day."

"Oh, well, I…" I stumbled, my tongue tripping over itself.

"Um, anyway...," the kid looked around for any other conversation, and his eyes fell to my left arm. "Did you design your tattoos?"

"Yeah, uh, yes," I say, smiling again, glad for the sudden change in topic, even if I had to bumble my way into it.

"Who shot it?" the kid asked.

"Shot it?"

"Did the work?"

"Oh," I say with a laugh. "I did it myself. I bought a cheap gun, and well, it didn't come out as good as I wanted it to."

"Tattoos rarely do. Even if you get a professional to do it. So, how much is this gonna cost me?" the boy asked, leaning over the design.

"I charge a hundred thousand yen, and I can have it done in two days."

"Shit," the kid said, and took a beat-up looking wallet from his pocket. He searched through it, once, then twice, as if the number of yen inside would suddenly change. "I might be able to get fifty thousand yen by the end of the week and the rest by month's end. Will that work? Obviously, I don't expect the mask until you have all your money, but work's been slow recently and I'm not sure if I can get the money any faster."

"When you give me half, I'll start working." I cleaned up the counter, putting the sketch pad out of reach. "Are you sure you want to wait that long?"

"I'd rather have it in two days," he sighed. "Hey, are you willing to work out a trade for it?"

"What kind of trade?"

"I'm a tattoo artist, I could fix that tat you're not happy with if you show me what you were going for?"

"You're a tattoo artist?" I asked, knowing my expressive little eyebrow rose to their full height.

"Yeah, I work in a shop over in the Twentieth Ward."

"How many tattoos would a hundred thousand yen get me? I'm very willing to work out an even exchange for the mask."

"The shop charges fifteen thousand yen for seven and a half centimeters, so…" he looked up and started counting on his fingers, muttering to himself. "Well, it would really depend on how big you want your tattoos. Six small ones, three big ones, something like that sound ok?"

"Oh, darling, you have a deal. Let me show you what I want and where I want it…"


	2. Chapter 2

"And he's called me darling, ever since," Clive chuckles.

"I'm telling the story right this time, aren't I?" I ask, preening.

"Yes, at least in this go round you're not afraid to admit you were completely clueless."

"Artistic license, darling, artistic license." I stick my tongue out at him.

"Do you need a refresher?" Clive asks Kaneki-kun. He's hardly touched his coffee, so he declines. Clive stands and takes my empty cup to the pot on the counter. It's nowhere near as good as Kaneki-kun's coffee, but it would be rude to make our white-haired companion brew the coffee when he is our guest.

"Was it love at first sight?" he asks, as I watch Clive walk and contemplate my answer. It is the little things I enjoy about him, his physicality, his sense of humor, his loyalty, but it is the way that he pampers and spoils me that are my favorite parts of our relationship; that he depends on me for his life, doesn't often cross my mind often, except when I rehash this old drama. We've been like an old married couple for so long, that it seems like we've always been together.

"Love at first sight? I'm not sure that's right. I wanted to eat him from the moment I smelled him."

"Gluttony at first scent," Clive suggests.

"Yes, probably, after all, we know my stomach is bottomless. Is that how you felt about Touka when you first met her?"

"Oh, I, um," Kaneki-kun stutters. "She'd scared me, actually. She was always shouting at me, or punching me."

"I was scared to death of Uta… well, really, everyone was terrifying," Clive admits, "I was waiting for him to hurt me. Everyone else had. I didn't have high expectations of living a long, happy life…"

* * *

That next night, he came a little later than normal, but we got right down to business.

"Alright, so you'll start on the mask, and I'll repair your wrist tattoo, and I should be able to get most of the sunburst done in one night."

"How about the sun first, and the wrist if you have time tomorrow?"

"Sure," the kid said. "When do you want to stop by the shop?" He fished a flashy business card out of his back pocket and handed it over. The card was covered with a scroll-like design and there was barely enough negative space for the name and website address of the shop. On the reverse side, in a strange loose script it read: Clive Imahara.

"How do you say your first name?"

"Clive," he pronounced it sharply.

"Crive?" I tried.

"No, Clive."

"British?"

"Sort of, my mother was from New Zealand, my dad's Japanese."

"That's cool, I'll have to practice that. Wait? Did you say I'd have to go to your shop? Can't you do it here?" I gave him my best sad puppy dog eyes, it worked most of the time on Renji, so I figured it might work on a human, too.

"I could… I guess, but I'd still need my tools."

"Maybe I have what you need? I did manage this much with what I have," I gestured for Clive to follow me into the back room, and showed him the setup I'd established for myself.

"Wow, no wonder you're not happy, this is some crappy materials you're working with?"

"That bad, huh?" I asked, rubbing the back of my neck.

"I wouldn't shoot my worst enemy with this gun; you're needles aren't bad, but, nah, I can't work with this. You'll be happier if you come to the shop."

"I'm agoraphobic," I stammered, backing away from the kid. _Gah, I'm so hungry I can't think straight, and he wants me to go out there? Among the humans?_

"Um, ok, then I'll come by after work. I'm sure when I tell Goro I'm doing work to pay for the mask that he'll… um, support me working overtime."

"Alright, tomorrow night. I'll have the first coats of paint on it by the time you get here."

"Cool, Uta, thanks for doing this for me." He completed the paperwork I'd presented him for the official ordering of the mask and then left.

I took the 'open' shingle off the door, and locked it behind me. I started the mask that night with the 3-D printer and the vacuum forming machine so that I could get the first layers of paint on and dry before the morning, but not before I ate. I collapsed into the chair nearest the small fridge in the breakroom and pulled out my bento. I snacked all through the night and met my goal for the mask before the sun came up.

* * *

"Have you ever met a Goro that you trusted, Kaneki-kun?" I ask, shuddering. "I hate the sound of that name to this day."

"I don't think I've ever met a Goro before."

"It's just a name, Uta, and he's been dead for years. You've got to let it go sometime."

"No, I will never forgive him and that's my right."

"Ok, Uta, ok," Clive humors me, but I can't understand his forgiveness. "Let me take this next part, since it's a little more technical...

* * *

I was thrilled with the progress of the mask. And since we'd parted company last, I'd transformed Uta's design into a tattoo pattern and gotten the transfer paper ready, so all I had to do was spread the Speed Stick deodorant that my boss swore was the only kind of transfer gel allowed at the shop and press the design onto Uta's flesh."

"Do you want me to avoid the nipple?" I asked, my professional eye seeing only the canvas of green deodorant on his chest.

"I don't care, I just want it to look awesome."

"It'll hurt more," I advised. For the first time around Uta, I took off my hoodie and let him see that I was wearing a cast on my left arm.

"Like I said, I don't care. What happened to your arm?" I had been afraid of that question, but it would have been too hard to work and have to constantly push the sleeves up, and I took the chance he would ignore it; I lost.

"It got broke. Ok, then I've brought two copies of the transfer with me, in case you weren't happy with the placement. Why don't you line it up where you want and we'll see where the nipple falls?"

Thankfully, Uta let the questions die on his tongue. Why shouldn't he? He didn't have any reason to know my story, and if I didn't want to talk about how my arm 'got broke,' it wasn't really any of his damn business. As soon as I had said it though, I realized he'd focused in on the semantics. I could practically see him thinking, _Got broke, not I broke my arm…_

Uta stood before the mirror, all up close and looked at the pattern. All this time, I'd wondered how he could make masks and how much he could actually see, but if I asked those questions, he would have had the right to ask me questions in return, and I wasn't ready for that. Instead, he pushed the transfer down on his pectoral muscle, nodded, and turned around. "Here's good; I like the way the rays cross my sternum."

"Ok, um, now this would be easier on me if you could recline or lay down." Uta hopped up on the counter and laid down. I took up the gun, already loaded and ready to go, and bent over Uta's chest. I took a deep cleansing breath, and started.

* * *

"If you ever want a tattoo, you should get Clive to do it. He's amazing with the gun."

"I've considered it, and you're tattoos are amazing, but I wasn't sure if my healing factor would be an issue or not."

"It's never been a problem for me, and I heal very, very quickly. Even when that Dove stabbed me in the face, I was good to go a short time later."

Clive mutters something under his breath. He's learned I can hear almost anything, so if he wants his comments to be private, he has to make them in English. To this day, he refuses to teach me his first language, despite my pleading, puppy dog eyes, and extra special blow jobs. Hell, if I can't snack on him, he has to let me eat him in other ways.

"You've done most of Uta's, then?" Kaneki-kun ask, shattering the image in my mind. Tonight… yes, tonight I'll entertain more wicked thoughts about adding to the love bites that mark his inner thigh.

"Everything except the collar and the inner sleeve on his left arm."

"And every Clown's tattoo for the past decade." I'm incredibly proud and boastful when it comes to Clive's work, as if I'm somehow responsible for his genius.

"For the most part, I only do Ghoul tattoos now."

"Really? Why?"

"Well, the way he tells it…"

* * *

"Shit, you're skin is so perfect for tattooing. I wish all my clients were that easy," Clive said as he stepped behind the counter and threw away his gloves. The tools would have to be disinfected at the shop in the morning, but he could at least wash up.

"Really?"

"Yeah, you don't bleed a lot, you have no freckles or blemishes to speak of, you're just a tabula rosa, and it's nice not to have a screamer for a change."

"A screamer?" I giggled, sitting up.

"Slowly now," Clive suggested, putting a hand out to make sure I didn't fall as I suddenly sat upright after the two-hour session. "Yup, I'm the junior member of the shop, so I get all the first-time clients and the wimps who can't sit through the first puncture without screaming. Eventually we'll hire someone new and I'll get to pass off the screamers on them."

"Do you have enough time for the wrist? Or do you need to go?"

Clive checked his watch. "Let me make a quick call and then I'll do the repair."

Clive was supposed to come back the next night to shoot the second full tattoo and pick up the completed mask, but the time came and went and I figured that life had just gotten in the way. When he didn't come in the following night either, I began to worry. I found Clive's business card and using the website address, called the shop.

"Clive? No, his boyfriend called him in sick yesterday. If you talk to him, tell him he'd better get his ass into the shop tomorrow, or he's fired," the guy on the other end said, hanging up on me. I didn't stop there, but dug out the order form and called the number on there as well. It rang once and went directly to voicemail.

"Let me know when you're free. The mask is done. You can call me at this number."

Another day went by and when I called again, it rang once and it said that the voicemail was full. I called Renji. "Can you take a walk with me? I may need some backup."

"Depends on why."

"I need to check on a valued customer. He was supposed to pick up his mask a week ago and I haven't heard from him. I'm afraid something happened to him."

"When?"

"I don't know, like I said, I haven't heard from him in days."

"No, I meant when do you want to go?"

"Oh, when are you free? Now would be good."

"I'll come get you."


	3. Chapter 3

I carried the mask in a bag against my chest and walked two steps behind Renji for the entire trip. Even on the train, I stood directly behind Renji, my face hidden in the shadows of a hoodie, and suddenly I understood why Clive had found comfort in the garment. I acknowledged that I was unusual looking, with bleached hair, assorted facial piercings, and unique fashion-sense, but that day, with my face hidden inside the hood and my eyes covered by the wraparound glasses, I felt a little less obvious while surrounded by humans.

We got off and walked the two blocks into a very, very bad neighborhood in the Eleventh Ward. According to the paperwork, Clive lived in apartment four hundred and twelve of a crappy, run down building that looked like it had been condemned and abandoned for years.

"Are you sure this is the right place? No one around here could afford one of your masks."

"I'm trading the mask for the tattoos he did for me," I replied. "He's really good. Look what he did to fix the mess on my wrist." I presented my left arm for inspection.

"Where'd you meet this guy?"

"He walked in off the street. He was savaged by someone and wants to hide his scars -"

"Wait! This guy isn't…" Renji looked around, making sure there were no eyes and ears on us, "he's human, isn't he?"

"I guess so, I didn't ask," I said.

"You fool. Where has the shrewd boss of Ward Four gone? You gave that up, what? Three months ago? And your brain's gone soft already? Walk your own damn self home, or get your human friend to do it."

Renji walked off, his shoulders scrunched low and his pace so quick, I would have to yell, or run, to catch him, neither of which I wanted to do right now being in enemy territory, with no backup.

I took the steps two at a time and made it to the fourth floor without seeing anyone, but once I stepped onto the walkway, the three apartments closest to the stairs had their doors open and and music and light spilled out along with a group of teenagers who sauntered between the apartments freely. I couldn't see the numbers on the doors without peering in and I got an eye full of naked bodies having an orgy in the first, a group of boys doing lines of drugs in the second, and in the third, a group was playing video games in front of a television almost too large to have fit in through the door. I checked each number and found they weren't the right ones, but I was still moving in the right direction.

At the end of the walkway, another hallway jutted out toward the back of the apartments, and as I continued along watching the numbers grow, it got quieter and darker until at last I stopped before a door with the right number and a name plate that said 'Watanbe Goro.'

There was no bell, so I hesitated, not wanting to bang on the door and wake Clive up, if he wasn't feeling well, but then I heard a noise from inside and lifted my hand to knock.

"You worthless little shit. You call this clean? I should make you lick it up with your tongue." The voice was loud and clear through the door; it was the same one I'd heard on the phone the other day. I waited, shuffling back and forth. _This was a really bad idea. Should I just leave it at the door? I could knock and then run, four stories isn't high enough to keep me from jumping over the side-_

"You filthy little cunt, I can't believe this -" The voice cut off suddenly and was followed by the sound of a body slamming into a wall. I knew that sound; I had caused my enemies to make that noise over the years I had held the top spot in the Fourth Ward, and I didn't like the fact that the person on the receiving end might be Clive. _What am I hesitating?_ I hadn't heard a single sound from the other person yet, and I wasn't about to go busting doors down until I was sure.

Crack! The sound made me jump back away from the door, and it was followed quickly by a sharp slap and the quiet sounds of sobbing.

"Please, Goro, I'm sorry, if you don't stop I won't be able to go to work again, and they'll fire me, please -" Clive's voice quieted as the sound of flesh meeting flesh started again.

I put down the bag and took a deep breath; lifting my foot, I kicked the flimsy door in with a single strike.

"What the fuck?" Goro shouted as he turned from where he was hunched over Clive's huddled form and charged toward the door. I stepped in, and pushed it closed behind me. I stopped Goro's punch with an upraised hand, and the raging asshole skittered to a stop a confused look on his face. He shook his hand, disbelieving.

"Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Uta," I replied. "And I'm going to kill you." Goro's face scrunched up, confused at this saying coming from me, a man half his size. He laughed and shook out his hand again.

"Uta don't, just run, get out of here. He's high and he gets crazy when he's like this."

"Is there a back way out of here?" I asked, deflecting punches, and dodging his ungainly swipes as if I was fighting off an angry two-year-old.

"No," Clive gulped, his lip bloody and bruises blooming all over his face.

"Go in the next room, now," I told him. On his hands and knees, Clive crawled in that direction. Goro managed to get one hit beyond my guard, and knocked my sunglasses off.

"You're a -"

"Yes I am."

Most of the time I don't find it necessary to flaunt my power, hell very few people have seen my full Kagune, but I wasn't interested in wasting time and giving the neighbors a chance to call the CCG. I drove my fist through Goro's chest, grabbed his heart, and pulled it out. Boom went the asshole.

I bent to pick up my glasses, and as I straightened I saw Clive, still kneeling, staring at me from the doorway to the other room. I put on the glasses, knowing it was far too late. I went outside, grabbed the bag, and put it gently on the ratty sofa inside the door. By that time, Clive was on his feet in the main room, gazing down at Goro's corpse.

"Go in the back room. Don't come out until I tell you it's clear," I told him and he moved quickly away.

I called the Clowns and they were there within five minutes with a meat wagon. We paraded him out past the crowds, pretending he was drunk and then I went back in to talk to Clive, so I could let him know the score. He was still in the bedroom, sitting on the corner of the bed, when I came back in.

"That's your mask on the couch. Don't ever tell anyone where you got it. Say it was a gift, or something."

"Thank you," Clive said. "I think he would have killed me this time. It was the first time he left bruises above the neck, you see. He lost it… anyway, thank you. I can finish your last tattoos tomorrow night. I'll come by at the same time."

"I won't be there; I'll have to move the shop. Don't look for me; our rules say I must kill you, but I won't. You don't deserve that. Not after all this…"

"I won't say anything, I promise. I'm good at keeping secrets," he said, whining just a little.

"You know my face and you can perfectly describe my tattoos to the CCG – you might not even want to, but if they suspect you know, the Dove's will beat the information out of you. Don't make me kill you, Clive."

"Ok, I'll go to –"

"Don't tell me, I'll be tempted to hunt you down."

"Don't pity me," he smiled. "If you have to kill me, just do it quickly. I can't promise I won't be a screamer any other way."

"Get your things together and leave Tokyo for a while, do it tonight, Clive. I've enjoyed your friendship; I don't want to mourn you."

He packed up his toolbox and a messenger bag with some clothes and the mask; even after he was done, the apartment didn't look any different. And then I followed him to the train station, watched him buy a ticket, and disappear out of sight.

* * *

Renji was at the shop, waiting for me when I arrived, along with the two Clowns and the van with the half-rendered body of Goro in the back.

"Uta, what cuts do you want?"

"The same as usual; send the internal organs to Rize as a peace offering. If we're lucky we might sate her appetite before she kills someone today."

"Eyeballs, fingers, and toes, then?"

"And testicles," I answered.

" _All_ the organs to Rize?"

"You can have the brain, she only wants the ones from the torso. You two split the rest with Raven. And clean out the truck quickly. I need to move shop tonight," I said, unlocking the front door and heading straight to the back.

I was pushing all the notions back into my sewing kit, throwing out bits and pieces that were of no further use, when Renji appeared at my elbow.

"Sounds like it wasn't a successful trip. Tell me you killed him Uta; make me believe it."

"Of course I did," I answered, thinking only of Goro. "The boys are splitting him up now."

"So why are we moving you?"

"I've got to assume he mentioned the mask, my shop, or our agreement to somebody. I'd be stupid if I didn't," I snapped.

"That sounds a little bit more like the Uta I know. Good."

"I'm moving back to the Fourth Ward. I know of a perfectplace to set up shop, but can I stay with you tonight? I won't have time to set up my new apartment – the shop has to come first."

"Of course you can, but first give me that apartment number." He held out his hand. I took the paper from my pocket and handed it to him, then watched as he sped out into the night.

* * *

When I got out to the truck with the first arm load of supplies, there was a courier waiting for me with a package. I signed for it without thinking and threw it on the front seat while the two Clowns loaded up the largest pieces of equipment. It was like playing a game of Tetris to get it all to fit, but eventually the important parts were all moved over to this shop and the others left with their spoils for the night.

Once Renji was satisfied that my customer was dead, he called me, and arranged to pick me up. The last thing I did for the night was grab the package, because I'd been waiting for a delivery of new bias tape and I was kinda excited about what I could do with it. So, we were sitting in the train on the way to the Twentieth Ward, when I finally opened it.

On top was a stack of yen, about fifteen thousand in all, and under it was a note. It said something like: _This is the most I could get together in one night. I hope it will make some dent in the debt I owe you. Also, please enjoy a meal on me, you deserve more than this, but it is what I could afford._

Under the rest, wrapped in wax paper and surrounded by cold packs was a piece of flesh, weighing about a hundred and seventy grams or so. Immediately upon smelling it, I knew it had come from his own body.

Renji handed me a handkerchief, "You're bringing attention to us; pull yourself together."

I dabbed the tears away from my eyes and read the note again.

"Secret admirer?" he asked.

"Something like that."

"It smells good. Are you going to share?"

"No," I said, my voice very tight and strained.

"I understand, it's not every day that someone declares their love for you that way."

* * *

"I'm confused," Kaneki-kun admits, sipping from his cold coffee. He's hardly moved the entire time Clive and I tell him the story, not even to drink his coffee.

"About what?" Clive asks.

"How did Yomo know that the sender of the package was in love with Uta?"

"Ah, that's right, I forget you didn't grow up a Ghoul," I laugh. "To share ones own flesh is considered devotion among our kind, but Renji assumed it came from a ghoul."

"I didn't know that at all, of course. I was just an ignorant human, but Uta saved me, not just from Goro, or from the other Ghouls, but from killing myself. That was going to be my next step," Clive tells him.

"Goro gave you those scars?"

"He did. He got drunk and sliced my face open, and when it wouldn't stop bleeding, he drove me to the hospital, and physically pushed me out of the passenger-side door at the curb. He'd abused me for over a year, and that came after my father had kicked me out of the house because I was gay… I'd figured there was no place left for me in this world, but Uta had showed me that someone still cared."

I reach out and trace the contours of Clives face, feeling the scars that had brought us together. I worship those scars at night, when we make love, and even though Kaneki-kun is watching, I need to feel him under my fingertips right then.

"But how did you find each other again?" he asks, coughing just a little.

"Oh, well, as to that… Clive will have to tell that story, I'm still a little fuzzy on some of it. Those three years were spent helping the Clowns enforce peace in a Ward I'd given up, only to slink back to, my tail between my legs when I'd made a decision I thought I'd regret for the rest of my life."

"Once I left Tokyo I went to Okinawa, because that's where my mother was. She was still married to my dad, so I waited until he left for work and then I knocked on the door. She cried when she saw me, gave me all the money she could, but I ended up back on the streets."

"I took the entrance exams for Okinawa Prefectural University of Arts, and majored in Design and Painting so I could live in the dorms. It was a rough three years, but I found a shop to work in, and eventually bought my own gun again -"

"What happened to the one you took with you?" Kaneki-kun asks, and I sigh, knowing the answer.

"I sold it that night, before I leaving Tokyo. That was the money I sent to Uta."

"So you had no livelihood at all?"

"None, I did some designs for quick cash, and did my best with what my mom could give me, but it wasn't until after I finally made it into the university that I found work. Being homeless sucks everywhere, but it sucks less in Okinawa than in Tokyo, that's for sure."

"Ok, so you stayed alive, but that doesn't answer how you got back together…"


	4. Chapter 4

I stayed alive as well, mostly by pouring myself into work, I was practically a salaryman with my steady hours and constant overbooking of commission, so one day Renji decided he'd had enough.

"You're boring now, Uta, and yes, I understand that's probably the strangest thing I've ever said."

"I'm boring? How so?" I looked up and crane my neck back at him, standing behind me, as he glared down at me.

"You dyed your hair black, you only wear monochrome colors. You never leave the shop, when was the last time you went back to your apartment? Do I need to keep going? Let's go to Helter Skelter, or get Itori and go out clubbing, anything would be better than sitting in here alone."

"I must really be pathetic if you're telling me to go outside and socialize, more so if you are willing to go out with me," I sighed. "Let's go before the clock strikes midnight and I turn into you."

We got drunk at Helter Skelter, danced at an underground club in Shubuya, and ended up walking to Anteiku to sober up.

"U-chan, Ren-chan," Itori slurred, her dress threatening to split that last three inches up her thigh.

"What?" I moaned, I hated that tone in her voice that said she'd get whatever she wanted out of either of us, or maybe both of us at the same time.

"I want to cuddle," she giggled, throwing her arms around my neck.

"Oh, hell, no," I pushed her into Renji's arms, and staggered into Anteiku. I slumped at the first open seat at the bar, glad that there were no other seats nearby.

"I'll have a black coffee," I groaned and lowered my head to the counter, covering it with my arms. Even through my sunglasses, the cafe's dull light made my head throb.

"Welcome back," Koma greeted me, and placed a cup by my head.

Itori fell into a chair at a table already occupied by people, at least three of them. In my inebriation, all of them smelled delicious.

"You got anything to dull the hunger?" I asked Koma. He slipped a sugar cube into my cup, and I swallowed the hot beverage down in three gulps. "Give me another."

"Coming right up."

"You're a cutie, aren't you?" Itori giggled at the poor fools at the table.

"Itori," Renji warned.

"Oh hush, Ren-chan, you're not going to cuddle with me, and U-chan's just a grumpy puppy like always…"

"Not like always," I called from my seat, not bothering to look. "Just when you try to make me cuddle. I hate cuddling"

"So, your name is Itori? What do you do?" A male voice asked.

"Oh, yup, that's my name. I own Helter Skelter, and these two, well this one is, Ren-chan and he's my bouncer," she hiccuped. "The other one is U-chan and he's a tortured artist, don't bother with him, he's been no fun since his lover ran out on him."

"Fuck you, Itori, he didn't run out on me," I groaned and finished my coffee, putting my head back on the counter. "And he wasn't my lover."

"Uta-sama," Koma whispered, "please watch your language."

"Sorry, Koma."

"What about you? What do you do?" Itori asked.

"I own the new tattoo parlor down the street, these two are my best artists."

"U-chan! Did you hear that? Maybe one of these guys could finish your tattoos!"

I ignored her; somehow the tattoos I had seemed untouchable, and I hadn't been inspired to add anything since that day.

A chair screeched as it slid back from the table. Itori stumbled across the bar, and grabbed my left arm, shoved my sleeve down, and exposed the tattoo on my wrist.

"See, so pretty," she said, mesmerized.

I pushed her away and spun around to tell the guys at the table that I wasn't interested, when I –

"Uta?" Clive said from the far side of the table. "Um," he stumbled, "it's good to see you again."

"What are you doing back in Tokyo?" I asked, forgetting all the things I'd planned to say if I ever saw him

"I finished university and well… out of this huge city, I never expected to see you again."

I was vaguely aware of Itori trying to talk to me, asking me some ridiculous question. "Uta, do you know this guy?"

"He… did my tattoo," I said, rubbing my chest.

"I knew you lied to me," Renji said. "I knew that fat fuck in the back of the van wasn't someone you would give a shit about, but I accepted your lies because it was easier. I should have been more diligent -"

Still staring at Clive, I addressed my comments to Renji, "If you touch him, I will kill you, Renji, I won't hold back anymore."

"I'm not going to touch him, for fuck's sake. Maybe now you'll stop pouting."

Clive turned a snicker into a cough, and smiled shyly, ducking his head, but not breaking the eye contact we had across the room.

I threw myself off the stool and crossed the room in three strides; I pulled Clive out of his chair by his collar and smashed our mouths together. He was game, sucking my lip ring into his mouth and I bit him, softly until his sweet, sweet blood ran into my mouth.

"Yay!" Itori clapped. "Well, it wasn't the yaoi I was hoping to see tonight, but two pretty boys chewing on each other is good enough for me."

* * *

"That sounds like Itori," Kaneki-kun says, laughing. It's the first time I've heard him laugh in ages, and he looks younger, lighter for the effort. He's missed so much of the last two years, and that haunted look he had when he came back to us wasn't pretty, but now… somehow he looks a little better.

"Does that give you a better idea of what you should do?" I ask. Clive cocks his head and raises an eyebrow. He came into the conversation after the pertinent part, but I make him wait as I keep my focus on our guest.

"So are you suggesting I should just go to :Re, pull Touka across a table and bite her?"

"It doesn't work for everyone, but it certainly does make a statement," I say, smiling. I emphasize my words by putting a tasty morsel in my mouth and chomping down on it hard.

"I don't know, Uta." He stands, draining the last drops of his coffee. He picks up his mask, and puts it on, almost by rote. He drifts to the door, putting one pale hand on the jam as he turns back to us. His black nails click against the frame, once, twice, thrice. He looks down at his feet, "The indirect has never really worked out well for me. Maybe your way is the best. If she punches me -"

"You can blame me," I say. "She'll believe it."

"No," he laughs. "If she punches me, I'm gonna try hitting her back this time."

I can't see him mouth, but I can tell by the twinkle in his visible left eye that he's smiling behind the mask.

I chuckle and as I blink, he's gone. Clive get's up and locks the front door.

"You ready for the next tattoo session?" he asks.

"Not tonight. Right now _I_ want to cuddle."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for taking this journey with me. If you like this story, please review or favorite it. Thanks!


End file.
